


Think I Need A Devil

by akire_yta



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:46:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For revelininsanity, and the chosen prompt: “Peter and Nathan arguing and making up.” Well, it’s kinda like the prompt…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think I Need A Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Pinch-hit. Title from the Foo Fighter’s “Learn To Fly.”

~#~

The explosion, the fire, faded away, replaced by the feel of Nathan’s arms encircling him, holding him. “Breathe, Peter, breathe.” Nathan’s hands on his face, the puffs of air as Nathan whispered to him. “Breathe.” He was surrounded by Nathan, all he could see and hear and taste and touch. “Breathe.”

Then there was only darkness.

~#~

Peter woke slowly, groggily, his head pounding. He rolled over, buried his face in a pillow that smelled of industrial detergents.

_hospitalhotelprison?_

Sleep. He needed more sleep. Then maybe he wouldn’t hurt so much. Peter pulled the pillow out from under his face, crammed it down onto his head, and tried to block out the world out with it. The blanket beneath was harsh, scratchy.

_prisonhospitalhotelprison?_

Thoughts beat out a counterpoint to the throbbing pain; flickering images of blood and night and darkness and fire. A girl dressed in blood. A light so bright it was a scourge. And through it all, Nathan, walking towards him, an inscrutable expression on his face.

_prisonprisonprison_

Peter sat up, pushing up on aching arms and swinging around until he could take in his room. The pillow tumbled soundlessly onto the floor. It wasn’t his apartment. It wasn’t his cell at the Odessa station, which was little more than a glorified holding pen, a place to stash him out of the way while Nathan’s lawyers…

Nathan. Nathan had come for him, really come, not just in a dream, and had bailed him out. And then…then…

_firepainexplosionfearpain_

Nothing. Then he woke up here.

“You’re awake. Good.” It was a statement, not a question.

Peter threw up a hand as harsh florescent lights flickered into life around the rim of his cell. For a brief second, he caught sight of his reflection in the angled pane of glass — pasty, hollow-eyed, still caked in blood around his ears and along the collar of his torn t-shirt. Then his eyes adjusted to focus on the face beyond.

His aching brain struggled to comprehend. “What…hey, you’re….”

_claireclairethecheerleadersaveher_

The man behind the barrier gently pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “I want to thank you again, Mr Petrelli. You saved my little girl.”

Peter stood up, staggering as the world swam for a moment. The glass was cool beneath his palm. “Is Claire all right? Where am I?”

The platform beyond the glass was higher than his cell, and Peter felt his neck protest as he tried to meet the eye of the man above him. “Interesting order,” he murmured. “Claire is fine. She’s at home, sleeping the sleep of the innocent. As for where you are, this is holding bay B.”

Peter shook his head in incomprehension. “What? Holding bay, where? What have you done to me?”

Claire’s father was serene. “I’ve done nothing to you, Mr Petrelli. Except fulfill my promise to you. And this is one of our holding bays, which have dampening fields designed to suppress the gifts of people such as yourself.”

“And Claire? Is she in one of these too?”

For a moment, the other mans’ calm flickered and cracked. “Claire is my little girl. She’s special, and I am going to help her.” The paternal serenity returned with a glance over his shoulder. “That is what families do, Mr Petrelli.”

Peter didn’t hear him. He was transfixed by the figure who had emerged from the shadows beyond the glass. “Nathan?” He staggered backwards towards the narrow gurney bed as the two men exchanged looks so familiar they made his heart ache. His father had mastered the art of looks like those, communicating without speaking. Nathan had only recently adopted the habit, one of many as he mastered in his role as his father’s perfect son.

Claire’s father nodded once. “I’ll have someone check on you later, Mr Petrelli, to make sure you’re comfortable.” Nurses’ patter, inexpertly delivered. Good bedside manner was hard to fake.

“Pete!”

Peter’s attention snapped back to the present. Not for the first time since the fall — since he’d _died_ — he wondered if he was in shock. “Nathan, why am I in here?”

Nathan stepped closer to the glass. The harsh lighting of the bay caught his features at an unflattering angle, sharpening the lines and filling the creases with shadow.

With a start, Peter realized that Nathan was looking old.

“Pete, what do you remember after I came for you, at the police station.” The quiet concern threading through Nathan’s voice was like a half-forgotten dream, contrasted with his usual brisk tones. Not a politician’s faux concern, but something more worn.

“I…I don’t remember anything. Nathan, what’s going on?”

“You collapsed, Peter. You stopped breathing.” A huff of breath. “Scared the crap out of me.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably, his arms snaking across his chest., He lifted his chin to meet Nathan’s eyes. “If I stopped breathing, why am I here, and not in a hospital?”

“Just before you…” Nathan looked away with a sigh. “You were trying to tell me something.”

_painfearexplosionfiregrief_

“What?” Silence. “Nathan, what did I say!” He didn’t realize he was moving until his fists pounded into the unyielding glass.

“You said it was you!” Nathan shouted back, an explosion of noise. “You said you caused it. The blast in New York, the one you’ve been chasing with that damned artist. You said it was you! You, Peter!”

_painfearheatexplosionfeargriefpainlosspainpainpainclairenathanhelp_

He looked at his hands, splayed against the glass, and was vaguely surprised that they weren’t already glowing. “It was me?” he whispered.

Beyond the partition, Nathan crouched down as close as he could to Peter’s level. “You’ve been right about everything else. Damn it, Peter, you’ve always known. And I can’t let that happen to you.” Peter looked up at his brother. “Not to you. You’ll be safe here.” He rose slowly to his feet.

“How long, Nathan. How long are you going to keep me in here?”

“As long as it takes, Peter.”

“Nathan!” Peter kept pace as far as the window would allow. “NATHAN!” A square of light as the door opened, then his brother was gone.

The fluorescent lights faded away with a buzz, leaving Peter alone in his dark cell.

“Bastard.”

_losslosslossgrieffearlost_

betrayal

~#~

The door clicked shut; a bleep as the lock sealed. Nathan stared at the red glowing light, and tried to ignore the prickling sensation on the back of his neck. “Nothing can touch him?” He glanced up at the older man, his face rigidly neutral.

“As long as the field is turned on, in this level, all abilities are suppressed.” He smirked slightly. “The stairwell has a clear shot four stories straight up. Feel free to try it if you don’t believe me.”

Nathan ignored that. “And he won’t be scanned, tested, or studied in any way?”

“He won’t, as per our agreement. And you are of course welcome to visit him at any time to ensure that we are keeping our end of the bargain.” The smile broadened, showing teeth. He stepped closer, his eyes raking over Nathan’s frame, already measuring and considering. “The question, then, is whether you will uphold yours.”

Nathan loosened his tie and tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. “Lead the way.” To keep Peter safe, it would be worth this cost.

 


End file.
